


The book of lost things

by Dilly



Series: The book of lost things [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Depression, Drabble Collection, Drama, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Love, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Homosexuality, Romantic Friendship, Sack of Doriath, Unrequited Love, Vinyamar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:58:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dilly/pseuds/Dilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlets and drabbles concerning Beleriand. Mainly sons of Fëanor. Translation from french.<br/>Chapter 9 : Nevrast (Turgon/Elenwë)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Gulf of Lune

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Le livre des choses perdues](https://archiveofourown.org/works/932060) by [Dilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dilly/pseuds/Dilly). 



**Title :**  The Gulf of Lune

 **Rating :**  G

 **Nombre de mots :**  100

This text deals with the disappearing of Beleriand and the Silmarillion content.

It is a translation from french. So if you see some mistakes (grammar or vocabular), please tell, it will help :)

 

* * *

When the tide goes back, the calm inhabitants of Lindon sometimes see strange ruins appear. Then, their heart fills with both desire and sadness.  
  
There was a great realm, it is said, the land of every tale. Elven princes with red feathers on their helmets waged war. Pale black knights died, looking at their doomed reflection in some deep river where gold shines.  
  
To fishermen eager for human and elvish stories, that land seems more true that their own cities : moors where beasts and things are gifted with speech, in which great works always end up tinged with blood.


	2. The festival

 

 

**Title :** The festival

**Characters :** Beren/Luthien, Maedhros/Fingon, Maglor.

**Date/place :** Himring, betweeen Luthien and Beren's wedding and the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

**Rating :** PG

**Nombre de mots :** 262

This short text is a translation from french. So if you see some mistakes (grammar or vocabular), please tell, it will help :)

 

* * *

The small puppet with dark hair and blue dress seemed to be the epitome of the Sindar and the Noldor, and she was dancing on the wooden stage, under the gazing look of the elven children.

« What feels Beren for Luthien, that was not love... »

Early in the morning, garlands of flowers have been hanged upon the fortress' frozen walls, candles inside the loopholes facing the plain, and for one day, war was to be forgotten.

« What feels Beren for Luthien, that was not love... »

Maglor was playing the harp and singing, and as his body was vibrating, each member of the audience could feel inside his chest, his belly and under his skin, the joy for victory, and Hope.

« What feels Beren for Luthien, that was not love... »

Their adventures were pictured with grace and poetry by the puppet master. Small Luthien was now in front of Beren's doll, and they seemed, by their different hair color, honey and raven, to complete each other as the two parts of world and life. No family conflict could have separated them, no moutain and no jail. Luthien like a bird was fleeing from Thangorodrim, and Beren followed her with his bleeding mutilated arm.

« What feels Beren for Luthien, that was not love... » repeated Maglor. « That was Fate, himself, which had opened his heart, and guided him from death to sunlight. »

Not far, under the high dais, the Himring king had hidden his face with a part of his mantle, weeping in silence.


	3. The fever

**Title :**  The fever

 **Characters :**  Maedhros and Fingon

 **Rating :**  G

 **Word count :**  260

The scene takes place after Maedhros' rescue. The new translation was written by [Himring](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Himring) :)

 

* * *

 

During the last laps of this dark journey, when he felt that he would definitely come to rest in that mild and sun-lit place, there was once again a kind of music to be heard, humming. Amongst the several different voices he heard – some unknown, some the voices of his brothers –, there was one he perceived most clearly, and that, in the end, was the most regular. Long vowels with minor inflexions of intonation, a voice melodious and calm as the sound of a zither.   
  
And when he finally woke up, he lay in a bed draped with fleecy blankets, and the light of the Sun was moving across the ceiling. But most important of all, to his left, was Fingon the Brave, looking at him with much care and sadness. For years, Maedhros had only seen orcs or creatures even uglier than those. Thus, at this time, nothing could have seemed more beautiful and fairer to him than his friend's face. A face he had known so well in the past, but which now still shone with the light of the Trees, whereas his own light was lost. A face with strong and pure features and blue eyes, also radiant, but with the nobility of his soul. And out of the darkness he had just emerged from, Maedhros raised his left arm, attracted by that light. He managed to touch Fingon's hand and wrist – so warm.

« I love you... »

Those weren't Maedhros's words. The sentence just slipped out of him, like a leaf falling from a tree, as exhaustion and circumstances had removed his body from his control.

And their sound was too weak to be heard.

  



	4. The Dispossessed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "For Maedhros begged forgiveness for the desertion in Araman; and he waived his claim to kingship over all the Noldor, saying to Fingolfin: 'If there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwë, and not the least wise.' But to this his brothers did not all in their hearts agree.  
> Therefore even as Mandos foretold the House of Fëanor were called the Dispossessed, because the over-lordship passed from it, the elder, to the house of Fingolfin, both in Elendë and in Beleriand, and because also of the loss of the Silmarils." (The Coming of the Noldor)

**Title :**  The Dispossessed

 **Rating :**  PG-13

 **Wordcount :**  543

This drabble is a translation from french.

* * *

 

« Fingon is like a brother to Nelyo », explained Maglor. «They grew up together. They have the same moderation. »

« And then he forgot he had true brothers ! », shouted Celegorm. « Maglor, come and tell him ! If he wants to give up his crown, very well – perhaps he is no longer capable of anything, after all. But taking it from you, taking it from us all, in order to give it to that half-Vanya...»

Maglor didn’t reply.

« He agrees with him, of course », said quietly Curufin. « He always agreed with him. What would say Father... »

« Father got us to slay our kin, to leave our cousins to die in the Ice. Would you follow his path again ? Would you cut your uncle’s throat in his bed ? »

« This debate is pointless », grunted Caranthir. « We have to remove Nelyo from office, in order to invalide his decision. And _now_. »

« I’m the only one who can do it », said Maglor. « But when he came back, I accepted he recovered the throne. »

« Nothing is written », opposed Curufin.

Maglor had an almost cruel smile.

« Nothing, yes… But all the court witnessed it. »

Curufin’s inkwells and parchments fell on the ground ; it was Celegorm who had stood up brutally, and he sent his seat to break against the cliff near which they settled their tents.

« I cannot believe it...! I can’t believe they managed to do that...! You should not reject the word of your father, Maglor, for how many times didn’t he warn us about the malice of Indis’ sons ! Fingon had always been an ambitious man, an actor who hides his real intentions behind front golden deeds. »

The hunter was helding up his fist towards his elder brother, who turned pale facing his madness.

« Don’t you understand, Celegorm ? », whispered the minstrel. «The king of the Noldor must be _good_. »

« And thus, if I follow your reasoning, we are not enough ? », said Curufin with irony. « And neither you, nor him. »

« Elven virgins ! Morgoth mutilated you, too », accused Caranthir.

Celegorm burst into a cold laugh. But Maglor remained undaunted.

« If you are so vigorous », he said, « why didn’t you cross Ard-Galen, explore Morgoth’s caves, climb the Thangorodrim, alone, to deliver your brother in torment ? Instead of staying in your campements, quarreling like young unoccupied spinners without courage ! »

« The adventure of a fool, doomed to failure », said Curufin. « Only chance allowed him not to loose his life during this expedition. A chance on which none of us could rely.»

But Celegorm’s face had withered, for being a former disciple of Oromë, he was consumed by the remorse for not having saved his elder brother. He left the tent, whistled his hounds, and rode the first horse he found.

 


	5. Annatar's triumph

**Title :** Annatar’s triumph

 **Characters :**  Sauron/Annatar, Celebrimbor

 **Rating :**  PG-13

 **Word count :**  454

This drabble is a translation [from french](../../932060/chapters/1816056).

 

* * *

 

It was as if the former brightness of his body had reversed. Everything was dull. On both sides of his face and beneath it, his long hair, of dark shade without highlights, seemed to be some fabric altar for an exhausted walker, who laid down under the trees since he can’t proceed further.

But it made his face appear even thinner, by filling the carved sides of his emaciated cheeks. A face which had become so small on the top of a tall, powerful and muscular body. Short nails of a goldsmith ; braids partly slashed by orcs – what importance now, they were mere horsehair, on old leather !  Celebrimbor was no longer here for five hours… Since Elves and Humans do not differ in that matter : when they die, the only remain of them in Endor is a thick and greyish statue, a simulacrum of themselves, which  looks like them only in the way of a plaster cast made from the print of the real model.

And while he beheld the corpse laid on a table by his human lieutenants, the corpse of the greatest creator of this age amongst the High-Elves, with whom he had worked for four hundred years, as a fellow guild member and a friend… This being of great beauty, of strong passions and deep knowledge always increasing – this being he conquered, deceived, defeated, then broke by torture… Annatar was seized by a feeling which was not euphoria of victory. This one he had known, when over a year ago, shining Lord of his troops, as noble and terrible as a Vala, he disarmed, in front of the gates of Khazad-Dûm, the son of Curufin.

But now, there was no more than that pitiful body, unable to inspire him any respect – and the Elven Rings hidden, out of reach. Hence, the void that dwelt in him, and which was like a black flame in the depth of his mind, expanded in his entire soul like a sudden fire, totally overwhelming him, and causing him a pain so atrocious, unbearable, that he screamed a terrifying cry which was heard even in the Moria halls. And during these crises, which stopped only the time of his conquests and machinations, he couldn’t even address his former master, held prisoner beyond the bounds of the world.

At the end, the elf’s body was given to the orcs, and they hanged it upon a pole to use it as a banner. They loved to humiliate what they didn’t possess, and took delight in bringing horror and fear on Gil-Galad’s soldiers’ faces. As for Sauron, who wasn’t nothing but wrath and wound, he turned his eyes to the West – from where Numenor’s help was expected.

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Phantom limb

**Title :** Phantom limb

**Characters :** Maedhros, Fingon

**Word count :** 144

* * *

 

It is said that when you lost a limb, there are times when you can feel it again, and most often, it aches.

Is the same can be true for every former part of you ?

Sometimes, when Maedhros was lying in his new bed or on the bare ground, he suddenly felt a weight on his chest and belly, and like a breath against the skin of his neck. His left hand rose in order to stroke some smooth and long dark hair. His stump he wanted to put upon the naked shoulder, beautiful and solid like white carved stone. His head he turned, to meet the bright and peaceful brow of his lover.

It ached.

But for at least a few seconds, he had the illusion that he was reunited with the other part of himself, and that Fingon was not dead.

 

* * *

“Phantom limb pain is usually intermittent. The frequency and intensity of attacks usually declines with time.”

Source : <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phantom_limb>


	7. Double inheritance

**Title :**  Double inheritance

 **Characters :**  Maedhros, Fëanor, Nerdanel

 **Word count :**  114

[Translation from french](../../932060/chapters/2226191) and [christmas tree drabble](http://drakys.dreamwidth.org/435198.html?thread=4380414#cmt4380414). (is there any english mistakes ?)

 

* * *

 

Talented in diplomacy and manipulation, Nelyafinwë inherited from both his father and his mother.

From his mother : the desire and liking to understand beings, to accord them, to unite them ; from his father : easiness to command, and the charisma of the leader.

At the center of his “tribe”, Fëanor stands straight, the Silmarils on his brow, his eyes shining as no gaze of the Eldar has ever shone before him ; their pupil narrowed until it is no more than a black dot ; whereas at his left, standing back behind him, his elder son’s widens, opens, until just a thin line of greyish steel is left on the border of his eye.

 

 

 


	8. The encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected encounter in Menegroth.

**Title :**  The encounter

 **Rating :**  PG-13

 **Word count :**  136

This drabble is a translation from french (and I think the [french version](../../932060/chapters/2287029) is far better). If you find some english mistakes, please tell !

 

* * *

 

« Go away, quick ! », Maedhros shouts.

She can only call him « Maedhros ». It is not Maitimo anymore, or Nelyo, her dear cousin tall as a wise tree, older than Arafinwë her father, and laughing when he took her upon his shoulders. It is no longer the eldest with the calm smile, his heir’s brow distinguished by a copper circle... It is not even the survivor trying to contain with one hand the violent quadriga of his brothers. 

It’s an unknown man, covered with red blood. His blade still dripping.

« Run away ! », he repeats.

 

On the other side of the carved room, Galadriel, all in armor, her sword held out in a false confident gesture, stayed petrified a few seconds, when she saw him passing the door.

She runs away.

 


	9. Objects of love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble originellement publié en septembre 2013 sur Livejournal et Tumblr.

**Title:**  Objects of love

 **Characters:**  Maedhros/Fingon, Curufin, Finrod/Amarië

 **Rating:**  PG

 **Wordcount :** 100

 **Disclaimer:**  Tolkien's world, not mine.  
  


* * *

  
Curufin's eyes were staring at him, clearer, and still.  
  
“Let me relieve you of your burden, brother”, he said, with a voice of deceptive compassion. “You think you love him, with that sick and deviant love… But you don’t. It’s an idea you love, the idea of good, an idea which is actually in yourself. For if you didn’t bear it, you could not have recognized it.”

* * *

Now Finrod was assembling the gold and jewels he had brought from Valinor all around him as in a garland, and he made them grow and multiply, in the deep niche of Nargothrond.

 


	10. Nevrast

****Title :** **  Nevrast

 ****Rating :** **  PG

 ** **Word count :** **  102

 **Characters/Pairing :** Turgon (Turgon/Elenwë implied)

 **Notes :** The scene takes place in Nevrast, before the building of [Vinyamar](http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Vinyamar).

The translation (from french) is by [Himring](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Himring). A lot of thanks to her !

 

* * *

 

The night before, the snow had mingled with the salt, covering the sand with a thin powdery crust that crackled under his boots. The north-western air, blowing from on high in a series of gentle gusts, was moist and cold, as if laden with the weight of invisible snow. 

Here, the world seemed veiled. The horizon above the Belegaer had disappeared, swallowed up in purple mist.

The elf took deep breaths. He did not know yet whether he would be able to love that smell of rotten seaweed, those sleek rocks that seemed covered with long green hair and the cries of the white birds calling for departure, whereas he did not wish to travel anywhere – whereas he did not wish for anything anymore at all.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can also read the drabbles with the chronological order here :  
> http://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/archive/home/viewseries.php?seriesid=82


End file.
